


Ar Garas Solasan

by Dr_Harbinger



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Halamshiral, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7772104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Harbinger/pseuds/Dr_Harbinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Translated as "I Come to a Prideful Place".</p><p>Mahanon Lavellan, a widower assassin of Clan Lavellan, has never been ashamed of his heritage and he would have the people of Halamshiral and Revered Mother Giselle know it well. Mythal have mercy on any who would insult him and his, including Dorian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a noblewoman mistakens Mahanon has a servant, Dorian can only watch as his beloved's patience finally snaps. Hopefully it won't cost them the ball.

Dorian knew Mahanon Lavellan well enough to avoid most of the traps that would have triggered his anger when discussing elves or the Dalish in particular. In fact the entire reason why Mahanon had gotten the tailor to fit his uniform in a deep forest green cloth with a golden sash as opposed to the red and blue of the rest of the Inquisiton was to make sure that Orlais finest understood on a fundamental level that he was Dalish first and foremost. The use of Elvish when he spoke with the Empress just further cemented that point though it looked like Josephine was going to have a fit later when she was out of the main spot light. It had been amusing if not the wisest move.

So with that display in front of the majority of the nobles it had surprised Dorian to hear what some of them said as he walked by them after the initial introduction to head to the garden. “Did you hear that knife ear using such language to Her Majesty? I am surprised she did not have him thrown out!” “Andraste could not have chosen such a creature as her Herald. The ears alone are an embarrassment!” “Did you see his tattoos? Such poor taste!” He wondered how Mahanon would take the whispers or if the nobles would be wise enough to shut up when he walked by.

Eventually Mahanon had wondered into the garden, no doubt looking for clues about this would be assassin hiding amongst these masked serpents. He slipped passed many people who barely noticed him and seemed to pause in certain spots before he made his way to where Dorian was enjoying a glass of Orlesian red wine. “Quite the entrance you made, _amatus_ ,” Dorian said by way of greeting when the elf got near enough, “Not the wisest of moves in the Game but it was certainly memorable.”

“As was the point, _ma vhenan_ ,” Mahanon answered, keeping one eye on the other nobles about them though he did not turn his head to watch any, “I would not let any here forget that it is one the People who leads the fight against Corephyus, not any herald of their prophetess.”

“You there! Elf! Where is my drink?”

Dorian bit his lip subtly when a woman in a particularly voluptuous ball gown snapped her fingers at Inquisitor Lavellan, her tone so condescending it almost reminded him of his mother. The Inquisitor turned to face her, his arms folded over his chest and his delicately gold painted vallaslin standing out starkly against his dark olive skin. She was lucky Mahanon had such a tight control over his emotions or else she would have found a blade in her neck before she got the chance to speak again. Yet Dorian knew better than to interfere now. If anything his lover rarely got the chance to correct such behavior and if he was being honest, it was more than a bit of a turn on to see his proud Dalish lover tear some ignorant fool apart with words rather than blades.  


“ _Ir abelas_ , were you speaking to me?” Mahanon’s tone was dangerously steady. Perhaps he’d do alright in Tevinter high society after all.  


“Don’t play the fool with me, rabbit! I asked for a drink not ten minutes ago. You can go back to whoring yourself after you’ve attended to proper guests.”  


Without thinking Dorian placed a hand on Mahanon’s shoulder to restrain him but flinched away when he felt how tense the muscle beneath his hand was. It was taking everything the Dalish elf had to hold back and the slightest trigger would set him off. If this were in Skyhold, Dorian might have done something first to quietly push the offender away before he or she got themselves killed. But this was the Winter Palace and to aid the Inquisitor would make him look weak. This woman was likely not the first to speak this way to an elf and she likely wouldn’t be the last. She just happened to choose the wrong elf to speak that way to.  


“Mahanon… _Amatus_ …”  


Mahanon dropped his hands from across his chest and although he did not carry blades with him in the palace it was clear his fingers itched for them. “ _Dirthara-ma._ You should hold your tongue, _shemlen_. You know not to whom you speak.”  


The woman stormed over to him and raised her as if to strike him but he was faster. He caught her hand before her gloved fingers so much as brushed the length of his ear. “Let me go, you animal! I’ll have your filthy ears clipped and your entire knife ear family thrown into the street!”  


“My name is Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan, my lady,” the elf whispered supposedly just loud enough for the woman to hear but Dorian and no doubt her nearby friends heard as well, “I have faced demons, blood mages and some of the most skilled warriors in Thedas who wanted to ‘clip my filthy ears’. Every single one of them has fallen to my blades. How do you think you would fare?”  


He waited until her hand relaxed and then let it go, holding her gaze through the mask as a peer. “ _Melana en athim las enaste_ my lady. May your god turn his gaze on you.”  


The woman, no doubt thoroughly humiliated left the garden in a huff, her friends following after her and Mahanon turned back to Dorian who wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or not. As amusing as it was to watch such an entitled woman put into her place the words she had said were cruel. If Mahanon had not been who he was how would another elf have reacted? Could they have fought back? Would they have? It was little wonder that he took such offense to the very concept of elven slavery in Tevinter.  


“I do hope she wasn’t important enough to sabotage anything later,” Dorian simply said when the music started up again and people returned to their conversations, “I’m afraid I don’t have much of a head for the Orlesian names in the Game.”  


“She sends someone after me they will meet the same fate as any other of the dozens of assassins who have tried. Do not fear, _ma vhenan_.”  


“But now you’ve rather drawn even more attention to yourself. How do you plan to slip away to find what you have to find?”  


“I have some secrets to hand to Leliana. She’ll know how to use them to get the court to focus on somethings besides me for a few hours while I look.”  


Well at least he had a plan of some kind. Whether it would succeed was another matter entirely. “Alright then. I’ll keep an eye out from here and be ready for your signal… provided the punch isn’t as strong as it seems.”  


“When this is over we’ll have to take the chance to dance together.”  


Now that made Dorian laugh. “Truly? You would dance with an ‘evil’ Tevinter ‘magister’ in front of the entire Orlesian court? It is as if you’re trying to stir up as much scandal as possible!”  


“Do you object?”  


“Not in the least _amatus_. When this is done the stories will be told for ages to come.”  


Mahanon kissed his own finger tips and traced Dorian’s cheek with them, a symbolic kiss that it had taken Dorian ages to learn the connotation of. It was a Dalish sign of affection when out in hostile or dangerous territory, a means to be less overt yet no less loving to one’s chosen. It had surprised Dorian the first time his elvhen lover had done it and now he took comfort in the gesture even if he fumbled to return it sometimes. This time he didn’t have the time to return it before Mahanon walked back into the palace. Dorian sighed. Oh well. He’d have the opportunity to return the favor later… possibly with interest.  


***  


The fighting was over at last. The Grand Duchess had been unmasked and Mahanon had proven that even as proud an elf as he was he could step in time with the Game as even the most skilled of their players. What he said to the Empress was a mystery to any who were not there but more than that Dorian was more concerned with how Mahanon was feeling after that spontaneous speech he had to make to the nobility before he was granted his freedom to do as he wished. He was an assassin and Dorian knew words were far from his strong suit, especially to a group who expected his every word to be inspiring. It was why he struggled sometimes at Skyhold and refused to sit in judgement unless he really had to. “It was never my place to decide the fates of the criminals amongst our people,” he had explained one time, “the Keeper would decide their fate and only when their crimes were beyond forgiveness would she ask that I be the blade that send them into the beyond.”  


By the time Dorian found him he had just finished up talking to that woman who wore the deepest violet gown. The gloves he had worn for the uniform left on the railing he was leaning heavily against. Every line down his back spoke of exhaustion and pain. Some of the demons had gotten a few good hits that potions alone could barely heal. Yet his ears were sharp because the moment Dorian stepped within reach Mahanon has turned on his heel, a short blade in his hand though he had enough control to do no more than be threatening. “ _Ir abelas, ma vhenan,_ ” he said as he put the blade away, “It has been a long day.”  


“Yes I can see that,” Dorian laughed softly, “It’s why I told the dowager with twelve daughters that you had already left. You can thank me now or later.”  


Mahanon smiled though it looked tired even as he turned to lean against the railing again. Dorian joined him and stayed with him in silence for a few moments before the elf spoke. “I had never thought that I would venture to _Halamshiral_ in my time. To see the grand capital of my people when we held our own kingdom again after our time in slavery… I thought I would see more of the way my people once built our homes and governed themselves as a people. But everything that might have once been of my people has been changed or destroyed. There is nothing of us here anymore. Once more we have been erased from the memories.”  


Dorian didn’t know what to say. He had never considered this trip to mean something like that to his lover. But before he could say anything Mahanon continued. “That woman in the gardens? The one who mistook me for a servant? People like her now claim the land my people fought and died for. Her words? Par for the course for my people who were captured, who could not survive in the wilds and remained in the shemlen cities. They call the Dalish savages. It is they who are the animals.” Tired bruised hands flexed into fists for just a moment and the assassin growled his frustration but it only lasted a moment or two. He was too tired to maintain it for long.  


So Dorian decided on something else. One last scandal for the Orlesians to gossip about. “I am sorry _amatus_. I’m afraid I can’t control centuries of custom and such. But one thing we can do is throw one more little stone into their pond. What do you say, Mahanon? This song has a good beat to it.” He stepped away and turned, bowing slightly and holding out his hand like a prince might to his lady, “Would you care to dance, my lord?”  


Mahanon’s tired smile came back but more than that there was a spark of mischief in his eye. “I thought you would never ask,” he said as he tucked his gloves into his belt and, bare handed, took Dorian’s offered hand, “think they have enough room on the dance floor for two more?”  


“I’m certain they do. Come. Let’s go give Josephine yet another heart attack.”  


That, finally earned a laugh from the elf though it was soft and muffled out when they stepped through the doors into the ballroom proper. Dorian didn’t mind though. He didn’t need to hear it to know that, at last, he had his beloved to himself and everyone who was anyone important would know it. This wasn’t Tevinter. He didn’t have to hide this side of himself and he wouldn’t. Neither did Mahanon and together they would make sure the entire Orlesian court knew it.


	2. Mother Giselle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Halamshiral and aiding Dorian in his personal quest with his father, Mother Giselle has some words for the Tevinter. Too bad Mahanon has a few words to say in return... not all of them in the Common Tongue.

Even before Mahanon got close enough to hear what the argument was he knew it wasn’t going to be something he’d like. Dorian’s voice was louder, sharper, as he snapped at Mother Giselle about something. Her voice was quieter but no less heated in her words. This was the same woman who kept trying to tell him that he had to believe the Chant of Light because Corypheus existed. Every chance she had she tried to push her faith down his throat and he was sick of it. Now she was doing something similar to Dorian? This he would not tolerate.

“What is going on here?” he snapped as he came up to the second floor of the library. It seemed suspiciously deserted now that he thought about it. 

“Oh! Your Worship! I-“ 

“It’s nothing really. Apparently the Revered Mother is concerned about my undue influence on you.” 

“It is just concern! Your Worship, you must know how this looks.” 

At Mahanon’s confused look Dorian sighed. “You may have to spell it out my dear.” 

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, his presence at your side… the rumors alone…” 

The assassin’s nose wrinkled at the woman’s words. “I am not of your Chantry. The Inquisition is not part of your Chantry. _Elgar’nan_ , will you _shemlen_ just keep your nose out of where it does not belong!” 

“Mahanon…” 

“No Dorian. I have had enough of this.” 

The Revered Mother actually looked afraid for just a second and Mahanon for once was glad to see that fear even if he did not move from where he stood. “You say the fact that Dorian is of the Imperium will harm my reputation? What reputation would that be, Mother Giselle? The converted heathen? The savage elf brought from the wilds to learn how to be civilized? The elf used as a puppet to further the plans of you heretics?” She flinched at each rumor he spat at her. Good. She understood. 

“If anything the presence of a Tevinter mage at the side of a Dalish Inquisitor should prove how committed the Inquisition is to restoring peace and order to all the peoples of Thedas. That should be more important than his nationality or my religion.” 

“I meant no offense,” she said after a moment though she was clearly still tense from his sharp words, “Simply to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.” 

Mahanon watched her bow and turn to walk passed them down the steps but before she got far he told her to wait for a moment. “If I ever hear you spreading lies about myself or Dorian with my own ears, I will not let you just walk away next time. I do not care if you are merely a cleric of your faith. Words can do as much damage as any blade and I will not hesitate to show you how true it can be.” 

She acknowledged his words and kept going though Dorian waited until she left the hall before turning to his lover who looked ready to hit something for just a moment. “Well that’s something,” he said, “even if that last bit was excessive.” 

“I am tired of _shemlen_ looking at me as if I am a child, as if I cannot make my own decisions or am lesser because I do not hail from one of their cities and cower and bow to their every word. The gods of my people existed. They guided us, built us from what we were into one of the most powerful kingdoms to ever exist in history. The Chantry would have us all erased, forgotten, our gods nothing more than fairy tales to scare human children with. I will not stand to be insulted within the walls of my own home by the very people who begged me to lead them against this enemy out of their own sense of pride.” He turned, angry green eyes glowing for just a second and it wasn’t difficult to see the flash of desire in Dorian’s features for just a moment. “That she would attack you in the same way, have you chased away and your presence erased because it does not fit within the Chantry’s tales…” 

“It’s alright _amatus_. It takes more than thinly veiled accusations to get to me. Yours is the opinion I care about, not hers.” 

It didn’t seem to stop the anger but Mahanon did feel it fade somewhat. If Dorian could handle this then it was not his place to interfere any more than he already had. Just as he stood on his own two feet so too would his Altus lover and would have to if they were to stand the tide against those who would try to wash them and the memory of them out of the history books. 

Dorian spoke again though, his voice pulling Mahanon out of his thoughts. “I don’t know if you are aware but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.” 

“We are. What of it.” 

“Given the rumors that circulate about my countrymen, some of them say that I used blood magic to enthrall you into such.” 

“You did not. I believe I would have noticed such blood magic and killed you before you got the chance to weave the spell.” 

And Dorian clearly did not doubt that for a second. If anything the reminder of his skill brought back another flash of want across those handsome features. “They don’t know that. They barely know you’re Dalish.” 

“Even after that display at the Winter Palace?” 

“Well, that might have informed more of them but there are still those who refuse to believe that the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste could be Dalish.” 

“ _Fenedhis asa_. I will be glad to have this Corypheus dealt with and finally be rid of that blasted title.” 

Dorian laughed softly no doubt at his exasperation and instead of spurring the anger more Mahanon only felt it fade completely. This was why he stayed with this man, despite where he was from, despite what he represented to the Dalish and the people of the south. Just as the People were not all the same, neither were the Tevinters. 

“It could be worse, _amatus_. You should have heard some of the rumors that circulated about me in Tevinter. But know this; above all else, no matter what may come at us from this world or the Fade, I will stay by your side as long as you would have me.” 

“And I will stay by yours, _ma vhenan_ , to strike down any who would threaten you or yours.” 

“Careful, Mahanon. Those sound like marriage vows.” 

“And would that be such an abhorrent idea?” 

“Marriage? To me?” 

Mahanon shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “Why not? Amongst the People, a bonding between two men is not encouraged as our numbers are so few but I believe that when I defeat this human abomination, the Keeper will consider bonding us as a form of repaying the debt the People would owe me personally for fighting such a monstrosity on their behalf.” 

“What about the Chantry?” 

“What about it?” 

“Don’t we have to get married in a chantry for it to be considered legal?” 

Mahanon features twisted in a sneer. “The Chantry can go fuck itself. My parents were bonded and their bonding was as real as any human marriage. As was my bonding to my wife before she passed and my son’s bonding would have been he been allowed to grow old enough for such things. My People have never needed the Chantry and of all people I would have expected you to not need it either.” 

“Oh I don’t need it per say but legal documentation declaring you as my husband? That I would like, especially to send copies of which to my father. I suspect I will be able to hear his screaming all the way in my chambers at Skyhold.” 

Mahanon laughed and considered for a moment. “I am not part of any Chantry, especially not the Southern one. Perhaps if we do this after all is said and done, I have the Keeper bond us in the South and then go to your homeland to be married at one of your Chantries in the North. A public marriage of House Pavus and Clan Lavellan? I can only imagine the horror on your father’s face and the scandals he will face in the Magisterium as a result.” He didn’t like to put in a mere half an effort for something as small as this, especially when the intended victim had hurt the one he loved on such a fundamental level. 

Dorian’s burst into pleased laugher was music to Mahanon’s ears. He couldn’t help but smile too. “Oh Maker! Are you sure you were never part of the Game? Such skill with words! Such an affinity for scandal! It’s downright thespian! I love it! Definitely something we should consider after all of this.” 

Mahanon didn’t care if people were starting to return to the library now that the shouting had died down. He had never cared what the people of the Inquisition thought of him. So he stepped closer and pulled Dorian into a kiss that was as much about happiness as a need to remind himself that this was why he fought so hard for the very people who would twist his deeds to suit their stories. Soft, warm hands held him closer in return and when the kissing was done, the pair rested their foreheads together, just breathing each other’s air. 

“ _Ma’arlath, ma vhenan,_ ” Mahanon said softly, just loud enough for Dorian to hear, “I have loved before you and she was strong and beautiful. What I feel for you is just as strong if not stronger. Say the word and I will kill for you. Ask and I will provide. My People may come first but only that. My blade is yours as is my heart. Don’t you ever forget that, no matter what may come for us in the days to come.” 

The hands around his back tightened and without opening his eyes Mahanon could feel the wetness of Dorian’s tears against his skin. “Come then. I can deal with the war council and our guest from _Halamshiral_ later. This is more important.” The Revered Mother could fall from the battlements for all he cared for her right now but she wasn’t the source of all of this. He would have to speak to Josephine and Leliana later. Dorian was more important right now than any of that and Mahanon promised himself he would see them suffer for every tear his beloved had shed in silence for the cruelty he endured at the words or hands of the Southerners who would rather let their fanatical beliefs guide them than any sort of proper judgement. He had avenged his family’s deaths. He knew how to exact vengeance from those who deserved it.


End file.
